


Symbiotic

by goldexemption



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Golden Trio Friendship - Freeform, One-Shot, Platonically, Post-Canon, after the war, i totally ship them, no beta we die like men, though, travelling, whoo!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28646904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldexemption/pseuds/goldexemption
Summary: Symbiotic: (n.) a mutually beneficial relationship between two or more groups of people, of which they are all dependent on the othersor: after the war, Harry, Ron, and Hermione go travelling.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Symbiotic

**Author's Note:**

> this took me forever to write, for some reason, even if it's barely a thousand words. hope you enjoy! :)

They stand there, rain misting their skin and chilling them to their bones, staring at Hogwarts. It’s beautiful as ever; majestic as it was a thousand years ago when it was first built; and yet. And yet they all feel like something is _missing_ , a hollow space cut out from the centre of their chests, where their hearts are.

Hogwarts has not changed, but they have. 

“What do we do now?” Hermione asks quietly, one evening. They've spent the day being hounded by reporters after trying to buy something from Diagon Alley. Harry and Ron look at each other over her head, but stay quiet. 

Neither of them know what to say. 

Harry wants to love Ginny, wants that picture-perfect family and kids and the sort of love where there's no room for anything else.

But he can't. 

(He, quite honestly, isn't sure how to love anyone _but_ Ron and Hermione.)

Most nights, Harry wakes up, a scream—a curse—on the tip of his tongue, fire boiling the blood inside him. 

When he closes his eyes, all he can hear is screams; when he opens them, all he can feel is blood slicking his skin wet, the brush of curse-fire _(death, his mind whispers, death)_ an inch from his face. 

It's his idea, at first, to get out of Britain. _Let's go into the horizon and not look back_. Ron and Hermione simply agree. 

They spend a year travelling the world; going to Brazil and Japan and Australia, China and Switzerland and America. It's...new, the culture in all these places; the food and weather and people, and for the most part Harry likes it. 

And really, it's not so different from their life back in Britain. Hermione still spends a whole day in bookshops, still has a hatred for Quidditch. ("Which," she muses, "could be from seeing Neville break his wrist. It had a lasting psychological impact on me, I think.") Ron still hates spiders with a passion.

(They'd found _that_ out after visiting a magical zoo, and some of the animals—including a giant tarantula—had escaped. The last one had been found on Ron's back.) 

Their life is different in some ways, but not in the ways that matter. 

Molly sends them letters every month, but they all return unopened, writing insideunseen by the recipients. It's selfish, Harry knows, but haven’t they done enough for the world? Haven’t they earned the chance to be selfish for a little bit? 

Some days, sure, they argue. Hermione still sometimes feels left out when Harry and Ron talk about wonky faints. Ron still worries, deep in his heart, that he's not enough, will never be enough. Harry still wonders, some days, if he's really worth it, if he really deserves such good friends. 

They are not perfect. Their life is not perfect. 

They are Harry-Hermione-Ron, have been since that day with the troll. They are three parts of a whole. And that's enough.

They are enough. 

* * *

"I'm a witch, now," Hermione says to herself one rainy afternoon, staring at her palms. "And my parents were never really comfortable with this whole thing; I can't take that from them." And it's true; she can't take that from them.

She loves them too much for that. 

It hurts like an ache in her heart when she sees families milling about, children and parents laughing together without a care in the world, and oh, her eyes are getting wet, Hermione realizes. She swipes at her face with a handkerchief, but it's too late: Ron and Harry notice. 

They spend the entire afternoon listening to Hermione, and comforting her when she needs it, and later that night, listening to Ron and Harry argue, she thinks, _I don't have my parents anymore. But I still have Ron and Harry, and_ _maybe—just maybe—that's enough for me.  
_

> Their story started with a troll and was supposed to end on a battlefield. Instead, it ended in a cottage. 

When Ron was eleven, and looked in the Mirror of Erised, he saw himself; decked in medals and acclaims, better than perfect Percy or dragons or curse-breakers or twins, all special in their own way. More special than _Ron_ , anyway.

He'd always wanted to make a name for himself, always wanted to be someone _more_ than a Weasley. Someone who would be recognized by name, not just " _Red hair...freckles...poor...Must be a Weasley_ , not just someone who would be written off by appearance, overlooked and ignored.

And still: even now when his name is always preceded by Harry's and followed by Hermione's, he doesn't care. 

They're worth _everything_. 

> 1a) Without each other, who are they? Who is a Hero without his friends? Who is a lonely little girl without her books? Who is a boy—overlooked, ignored—without his ambitions?
> 
> Harry-Ron-Hermione is the answer.

The years and years fly by; years full of love and peace and adventure (though ones they _want_ to go on this time). They do settle down eventually, in a little house by a stream where there's acres and acres of land for Ron and Harry to play quidditch, and for Hermione to read. It's nice and quiet and peaceful there—so unlike Britain—and Harry thinks he could stay here forever. 

None of them want to leave. And so they don't. 

When winter comes, and with it brings snow, Ron and Harry go out and have a snowball fight and build igloos, and when it gets too cold they come back in, shivering, for Hermione to wrap them up in blankets and they drink hot chocolate by the fire together. Other days they stay inside, cooking or reading or learning things, for fun, and Harry thinks he’s never felt this satisfied in his whole life. 

On Sunday evenings—or really, whenever they feel like it—Harry, Hermione and Ron go to the forest. To their special place; a rock that they sit on and watch the sunset go down, painting the sky a myriad of watercolours. 

At night, they more often than not sleep in the same bed, and when Harry reaches out for Hermione’s fingers, head tucked into the crook of Ron’s neck, they all know what it means, all think the same thing. 

_Together. Always. Until the end._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and leave a kudos or a comment if you feel like it. criticism welcome! <3


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